Jabes: One thing is to copy a text cutting and pasting it, another thing is it to copy a text writing every single letter. Each blank has the potential of becoming an abyss or an invitation to fly: I am writing now kwiskwis. I wanted to write the Latin word for “who”, but I am not able to. My iPad does not give me the letter I need.

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Barbara Ellmerer

Barbara Ellmerer

Penelope:

Whosoever with anxious thought examines the universe and searches out the origin of things — the reason of the sun’s and moon’s eclipse, the causes of comets’ red and baneful fires, the source of the winds, the motion that makes the earth to quake, the force that splits the heavens in twain, the noise of the thunder, the brilliance of the rainbow, let this man (if man’s mind has any power to conceive the truth) explain to me something I would fain to understand.

There is a stone called the loadstone; black, dull, and common. It does not adorn the braided hair of kings nor the snowy necks of girls, nor yet shine in the jewelled buckles of warriors’ belts. But consider the marvellous properties of this dull-looking stone and you will see that it is of more worth than lovely gems and any pearl sought of Indian amid the seaweed on the Red Sea’s shores. It lives on iron and feeds on its inflexible nature; iron is its food and nourishment; from iron it recruits its strength. This seemingly inedible food, circulating throughout its body, renews its hidden powers. Without iron the loadstone dies; its bulk wastes away from lack of nourishment and thirst parches its emptied veins.

Mars, who strikes cities with his bloody spear, and Venus, who changes human cares to ease, share a common shrine and temple built of gold. Each deity has his own image; Mars, a polished iron statue, Venus, one fashioned of the loadstone. The priest duly celebrates their union. The nuptial torch precedes the choir; myrtle wreaths adorn the portals, the couches are piled with roses, while cloth of scarlet dye, as befits a marriage, adorns the bridal chamber. But, lo, a prodigy: Cytherea, without quitting her station, attracts her husband to her, and recalling the scene of which heaven was once witness, clasps Mars to her bosom with amorous breath. There she holds him suspended; her arms enfold the helmet of the god and clasp his whole body in a lifelike embrace. He, stirred by the far-compelling influence of her breath, is drawn towards her by the secret chains of his jewel-bride. Nature presides over the divine marriage; a binding breath woos the steel to wedlock; suddenly two deities are mated in secret union.

What hidden warmth infuses mutual sympathy into these twin metals? What harmony makes one their stubborn souls? The stone sighs and burns, and smitten with love recognizes in the iron the object of its desire, while the iron experiences a gentle attraction for the stone. It is thus that Venus often holds the fierce god of war in check and softens his fiery glance when the angry blood boils within him and with drawn sword he whets his warmth. She alone can face his fierce steeds and appease the tumult of his heart, calming his anger with gentle flame. Peace and quiet are restored within his soul; he abjures the heat of battle and bends his head, helmed with ruddy plumes, to kiss the goddess.

Cruel boy, is aught beyond thy powers? Thou dost master the mighty thunderbolt; thou canst force the Thunderer to leave the sky and bellow amid the waves. Now thou showest that thou canst smite cold rocks and shapes not instinct with feeling or life, that stone can be wounded by thine arrows. Rocks are stirred by a passion of their own; iron is obedient to thy blandishments; thy flames exercise dominion over hardest marl.

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In the search for my origins, I must do without pictures. Not because I do not find any, no, what I find is not right, or suitable or authentic. I find no pictures of the time when people started to talk about me and to write it down. I only find pictures in central perspective, the centralizing perspective. Pictures framed by the tradition of the Western eye, framed by perceptions guided by reason, to then be judged through lenses (photography, video) or on monitors. Pictures like this record something that must have looked different at the time when one started to write about me. I believe it is important to highlight this difference. Differences suggest latitude, give an idea of degrees of freedom.

I turn first to words. Words that were used two or two and a half thousand years ago to describe something concerning me, words that were then written down. There is for example a poem about me, written around 400 AD, which makes it 1,600 years ago. The poem is called ‘Magnes’. It was written by Claudian. I am starting to disband this poem into passages and words that made it possible at first. Here the poem copied from Penelope:

Hac in pagina telari legitur unum ex  Carminibus Minoribus  C. Claudiani
a Loeb Classical Library editum MCMXXII cuius textus in dominio publico est. Quem diligentissime perscrutavi et recensui — sed si quemlibet errorem invenies, mihi, quaeso, scribe.

C. Claudiani: Magnes

XXIX (XLVIII)

Quisquis sollicita mundum ratione secutus
semina rimatur rerum, quo luna laborat
defectu, quae causa iubet pallescere solem,
unde rubescentes ferali crine cometae,
unde fluant venti, trepidae quis viscera terrae
concutiat motus, quis fulgura ducat hiatus,
unde tonent nubes, quo lumine floreat arcus,
hoc mihi quaerenti, si quid deprendere veri
mens valet, expediat.
Lapis est cognomine magnes
decolor obscurus vilis. non ille repexam
caesariem regum, non candida virginis ornat
colla nec insigni splendet per cingula morsu;
sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxi,
tunc pulchros superat cultus et quidquid Eois
Indus litoribus Rubra scrutatur in alga.
nam ferro meruit vitam ferrique rigore
vescitur; hoc dulces epulas, hoc pabula novit;
hinc proprias renovat vires; hinc fusa per artus
aspera secretum servant alimenta vigorem;
hoc absente perit: tristi morientia torpent
membra fame, venasque sitis consumit apertas.
Mavors, sanguinea qui cuspide verberat urbes,
et Venus, humanas quae laxat in otia curas,
aurati delubra tenent communia templi.
effigies non una deis: sed ferrea Martis
forma nitet, Venerem magnetica gemma figurat.
illis conubium celebrat de more sacerdos.
ducit flamma choros; festa frondentia myrto
limina cinguntur, roseisque cubilia surgunt
floribus, et thalamum dotalis purpura velat.
hic mirum consurgit opus: Cytherea maritum
sponte rapit caelique toros imitata priores
pectora lascivo flatu Mavortia nectit
et tantum suspendit onus galeaeque lacertos
implicat et vivis totum complexibus ambit.
ille lacessitus longo spiraminis actu
arcanis trahitur gemma de coniuge nodis.
pronuba fit Natura deis ferrumque maritat
aura tenax: subitis sociantur numina furtis.
Quis calor infudit geminis alterna metallis
foedera? quae duras iungit concordia mentes?
flagrat anhela silex et amicam saucia sentit
materiem placidosque chalybs cognoscit amores.
sic Venus horrificum belli compescere regem
et vultum mollire solet, cum sanguine praeceps
aestuat et strictis mucronibus asperat iras.
sola feris occurrit equis solvitque tumorem
pectoris et blando praecordia temperat igni.
pax animo tranquilla datur, pugnasque calentes
deserit et rutilas declinat in oscula cristas.
Quae tibi, saeve puer, non est permissa potestas?
tu magnum superas fulmen caeloque relicto
fluctibus in mediis cogis mugire Tonantem.
iam gelidas rupes vivoque carentia sensu
membra feris, iam saxa tuis obnoxia telis,
et lapides suus ardor agit, ferrumque tenetur
inlecebris; rigido regnant in marmore flammae.